Someone To Lean On
by Steampunkd7
Summary: Iceland is tired of the Nordics wanting him to be their little brother but not their friend. A new friend helps him see that sometimes to get your family to acknowledge that you've grown up, you have to do some growing up without them around.
1. Chapter 1

"Would it be alright if I came too?"

The four older Nordics turned to look at Iceland with the same surprise that Iceland himself was feeling. Iceland didn't know what had possessed him to ask such a stupid question.

"You're underaged. They wouldn't let you in," said Norway. After his initial look of shock, he'd schooled his face into a blank mask and gave away nothing about how he felt about this.

"Plus, you'd kind of cramp our style," said Denmark. He pinched one of Iceland's cheeks before Iceland could escape. "You're so baby faced, and all."

"Ouch! Let go!" Iceland batted Denmark's offending hand away. "Fine. I didn't really want to come anyway."

"Then why'd you ask to come?" Denmark smirked at him.

"I have no idea." Iceland really didn't. Because he really did not want to spend time with the older Nordics. They . . . well . . . they weren't his friends. Family, yes, friends no. Not by any stretch of the imagination, even though Iceland sometimes wished they were.

Iceland made it his policy to be honest with himself, even though he had no qualms about lying to anyone else. And if he was honest with himself, he'd always been a little envious of the elder Nordics and the relationship they had with each other. They'd paired off into best friends: Sweden and Finland, and Denmark and Norway, but at the same time were comfortable and on good terms with the others, despite the differences in their personalities and the arguments they'd had in the past.

But Iceland . . . Iceland was everyone's little brother but no one's good friend. Even though Norway was his only real official brother, the others all saw him as their kid brother too. Even though he was a teenager now, he was still treated like a tagalong, like a child, and even though he'd tried to get them to see him differently, it never worked. Whenever he was with them he was immediately relegated to the role of the annoying one, the one at the bottom of the pecking order, as the youngest. That was why he hated spending time with them, so why he'd just asked to prolong his torment . . .

He supposed he'd been swept up in the camaraderie of being one of the Nordics at the world summit meeting. All the nations had their cliques and groups and friends and some groups were just cooler to be a part of than others. And being one of the Nordics was definitely very high on the list.

And the meeting had been unusually productive, with the Nordics and Netherlands presenting a united front on several complicated issues regarding tourism in Northern Europe. Iceland had even gotten a chance to talk for a change, and had been prepared, able to make insightful points and answer questions that had been meant to intimidate him and weaken their argument as a whole. The other Nordics had all been beaming at him, or smiling at him, or in Denmark's case, loudly cheering him on. Even the Netherlands, who wasn't one of them and didn't like many people, had given him a broad smile, then shouted at Austria to shut up when Austria had attempted to talk over Iceland. Norway had even seemed proud.

But now the meeting was over and he wasn't a dignified nation anymore. Nope, now he was just the annoying little brat that they all wanted to call them "Big brother" but didn't want to ever hang out with. The bastards.

"You may order room service if you wish," said Norway as Iceland turned to stalk away. "For dinner."

It was a peace offering, Iceland knew, but it annoyed him more than anything else. He didn't want any freaking peace offerings. He didn't want them pretending like they actually cared about what he was going to do this evening. Not when they were heading off to go clubbing and wouldn't think of him again until tomorrow when he had to wake them up for another fun filled day of meetings.

"Whatever," Iceland told his brother. Mentally, he vowed to go to a restaurant, and one on the other side of the city at that. He recognized an attempt at trying to keep him cooped up in his room when he saw it.

"Hey, don't be like that, Ice!" Denmark called after him. "In a few centuries you'll look old enough to come with us. Honest."

Iceland ignored him. Denmark was such an idiot. He didn't see how Norway could stand him. Then again, Norway didn't have to deal with so much ridicule and condescending remarks just because he'd had the misfortune of being born last. Such was Iceland's lot in life.

And the others all wondered why he didn't want to call them "big brother."

* * *

><p>Two hours later found Iceland wishing that he had just stayed in his motel room and ordered room service. It was getting late, he was lost, and he didn't speak enough Spanish to ask anyone for directions. Even worse, he seemed to have attracted the attention of some thugs a few years older than he himself appeared to be. The teenagers had been following him for a couple blocks now, staying back a discreet distance at first, but recently they'd begun to get bolder and venture closer.<p>

Nothing looked familiar. In fact, the further he went, the more run down and decrepit everything looked.

Iceland was starting to get scared. Not that he'd admit it to anyone other than himself.

He had his cell phone and he knew that he could call for help if he needed to. Interrupt Norway's evening of clubbing to make him find a translator and send a cab to come pick Iceland up, assuming that cabs even came to this part of the city. Iceland wouldn't have been surprised if they didn't. But even so, his pride stopped him from calling on his big brother for help. He wasn't helpless. He would find his way back to the motel on his own.

That's what he kept telling himself, right up until he walked into a dead end alley and turned around to find himself boxed in by the older-looking teenagers that had been following him.

He didn't understand what the teen who seemed to be the leader said to him, but he could tell by his tone that it wasn't good.

"I don't want any trouble," Iceland said in English. "Just leave me alone."

They must have understood him, at least partway, because they laughed at his words. One of them stepped forward and lifted a piece of Iceland's silvery-white hair. So naturally, Iceland punched him in the face.

Iceland wasn't very much of a fighter. He had no training and no standing army. He didn't even know how to load a gun. As far as nations went, he wasn't exactly capable of defending himself from any real attack, and it showed in his natural abilities. His punch probably broke the first teen's nose, but two more of them overpowered Iceland, each grabbing one of his arms and holding him trapped between the two of them. When Iceland tried to break free and found himself unable to, he knew he was in trouble.

The first punch struck him in the stomach hard enough to take his breath away. Even as he gasped and wheezed more blows began raining down on him as the street kids took revenge. Every hit brought more pain, and more than a few of them drew blood, especially the ones that connected with his face. Blood dripped into his eyes and his vision started to dim as a punch connected with his temple, but Iceland managed to cling to consciousness long enough to give cry out one plea, not even really paying attention to his own words, just calling out on instinct.

_"Big brother! Help me!"_

* * *

><p>Prussia was bored.<p>

And that was a most unawesome feeling.

Normally he'd be out partying with France and Spain, but since Spain was hosting the meeting he was too busy to go out and have fun, and France was off harassing England and America. Germany was off with Italy, thus leaving Prussia to his own devices for the evening, and damn if he wasn't bored out of his mind.

He could have tried to find some other nations to hang out with, but frankly, there weren't many he could stand being around, what with all their stupid comments about his current ex-nation status (a temporary condition, he could assure them) or their general bitchiness, like all those damned Allies.

That was how Prussia found himself taking a walk around one of the more run down parts of Madrid that evening, killing time, and wishing for something interesting to happen that would break up the monotony of his life, because more and more he found himself realizing that his old friends had other duties or other things they'd rather being doing than hanging out with him. And it kind of stung, but Prussia wasn't so damn codependent on them that he'd let it get him down. No, not the awesome Prussia. He was more the kind to figure out a way to have an awesome time without them and make them wish that they had been hanging out with him instead of doing whatever lame activity they'd been doing.

When he saw the group of street teens ganging up on a smaller teen and beating him down, Prussia had no plans to interfere, not at first. He wasn't like America with his lame hero complex and his obsessive compulsive need to defend the weak. Some people were stupid and deserved to get beaten up, Prussia had always reasoned. Quite often, he'd been one of those who'd administered the beatings.

But when he got a better look at the teenager on the wrong end of the beating, he stopped and frowned. That hair color . . . silvery white wasn't a common hair color anywhere, let alone in Spain. In fact, Prussia had only met three people other than himself who had that hair color, and two of them were long since dead. The third was another nation, and one about the same age as the person being beaten up.

_"Big brother! Help me!"_ The scream confirmed it and had Prussia sprinting into action. He knew darn well that it wasn't him who Iceland was screaming for, but since none of the other Nordics appeared to be on hand, Prussia would have to do. He wasn't about to just stand by and watch a nation he didn't loathe, or another albino beaten up. Prussia had actually never had any problem with Iceland. In fact, for a point in time, around World War II, he'd been very interested in having Iceland come stay in his house. It had never escaped his notice how much Iceland looked like him, and he'd thought it might be possible that Iceland was actually his little brother, rather than one of the Nordics'. At the last Prussia had heard, it had been confirmed that Norway was Iceland's official sibling, but no matter. Iceland was still an albino, which meant that Prussia wasn't going to stand by and watch him get beaten up by a bunch of street punks.

He entered the fray with a flying kick that connected with their leader's face. A satisfying crunch filled the air as he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Next Prussia took down the two thugs that were holding Iceland's arms, dropping them with throat strikes and catching Iceland by the front of his shirt before he could fall to the ground.

"Kesesese! Fear not, little Iceland! The awesome me has arrived!"

Iceland didn't answer, and Prussia realized with a little bit of concern, that he wasn't conscious. No matter. Prussia tossed the small teen over his shoulder in a fireman's carry even as he spun to plant his boot in another street teen's face.

It was over very quickly. Half a dozen teenage street punks were no match for an awesome ex-nation like Prussia, who'd survived from the Dark Ages by fighting his way through life. Even with the burden of an unconscious young nation draped over his shoulder, Prussia was still too awesome for those pathetic thugs to even touch. They seriously should have fallen to their knees and started worshiping him the moment he entered their presence, tongue cleaning his boots and chanting repetitiously how they were not worthy. If they had done that, they might have saved themselves the painful beatdown Prussia had administered.

Iceland was stirring a little as Prussia slid him back down into his arms and carried him bridal style back to one of the main roads, deciding now would be a good time to head back to the motel since he didn't think Norway would approve of him taking Iceland to the strip club he'd been planning on hitting up. Not that he really cared what the stupid Norwegian thought, but hey, Iceland might need medical attention.

"Take it easy, kiddo," Prussia told him as Iceland gave a low groan.

"Big brother?" Iceland asked groggily.

Prussia felt a pang at being addressed that way, even though he knew that it wasn't him Iceland was giving that title to. For a moment he felt a bit nostalgic, remembering how cute West had been, and how nice it had been to have someone call him that. How nice it had been to have someone look up to him. "Nope. Someone more awesome than that," Prussia told Iceland.

Iceland tensed in his arms then slowly opened his eyes. He blinked several times at Prussia, like he wasn't sure how he could possibly have been rescued by someone so amazingly cool, every inch of his face covered with surprise. "P-Prussia?"

"The one and only. Kesesese!" Prussia laughed.

And maybe it was just his imagination, but Prussia would have sworn that for a moment Iceland looked scared. Poor kid was probably too in awe of his awesomeness. Admittedly, it was a lot for someone to take in.

"Y-you saved me?" Iceland blinked rapidly as blood dripped into his eyes and he winced.

"You bet I did."

"Why?" Iceland wanted to know.

Prussia snorted. "What kind of question is that?"

Iceland cringed. He actually looked scared, but he wasn't fighting for Prussia to put him down, which Prussia took as a good sign.

"Why would you help me like that?" asked Iceland. "We're not friends. I've never even spoken to you before today, so why would you help me like that?"

"Because I'm just awesome like that. You're welcome by the way," said Prussia.

Iceland looked at him furiously. "I didn't need your help!"

"Which was why you were screaming for help, huh?"

"I wasn't calling to you!" Here Iceland's voice cracked and he looked away.

"Yeah, I know, but your brother wasn't there to save you," said Prussia. "Where is he anyway?"

"Hell if I know."

"Did you get lost? Or separated from him?"

"I was lost, but I didn't go there with him," admitted Iceland. "I went there by myself. Put me down."

Prussia stopped and lowered Iceland carefully to the ground. He stayed close by as Iceland tried to take a step then doubled over and nearly fell.

"Hey, hey, hey. Careful. You're okay, you're okay," said Prussia, feeling a little bad as Iceland struggled to breathe. "You probably have a few cracked ribs, is all."

"It hurts," Iceland wheezed with tears in his eyes.

Aw, damn.

Prussia had always been a sucker for tears. All it ever took was a glassy eyed look from a much younger Germany, and Prussia had caved to whatever he'd wanted.

"Hey, it's okay," Prussia said. He carefully put a hand on Iceland's back. "I can carry you. It's no big deal."

Iceland looked like he wanted to argue but didn't say anything when Prussia carefully lifted him off the ground again.

"It's quite a walk," Prussia said, because not saying anything was too awkward. "It would take us about an hour to get back to the hotel. But in a few blocks we'll be back on the right side of the tracks and I'll get us a cab. Sound good?"

Iceland nodded, still looking miserable. Tears were falling slowly and silently down his cheeks and Prussia felt himself growing more worried.

"Does it hurt that bad?"

He hadn't thought Iceland was that injured, but maybe he needed to take him to see a doctor after all.

"No." Iceland sniffed.

"Then what's wrong? You don't have to be scared anymore, you know."

"I know." Iceland squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm just an idiot."

"Why do you say that?" asked Prussia.

"Because me getting beat up was my own stupid fault," Iceland told him. "I was mad that the other Nordics wouldn't let me go clubbing with them. So I decided to go do something on my own. And I walked until I got lost. Then I got beat up by a bunch of humans. I'm so stupid."

"No, you're not. And that is a divine declaration made by the awesome me," Prussia told him. "Trying to argue against it is useless. You're not stupid, Iceland. And plenty of nations wouldn't be able to fend off six humans. Hell, that cocksucker Austria couldn't even fend off one. You're pretty tough holding out against six."

Iceland blinked, and a little bit of hope lit his eyes.

"You've never had any training in fighting, have you?" asked Prussia.

"No," Iceland admitted, his face falling again.

"When you get home you should enroll in some kind of class. Preferabbly some sort of martial art native to your country. Like Viking raiding 101 or something. As a nation, you have a natural affinity for the skills that your people specialize in," explained Prussia.

"I didn't know that . . ."

Prussia fought back a scowl. Norway should have told him that. Someone should have told him that. But then, Prussia remembered, Iceland hadn't been his own country very long. He'd only declared independence from Denmark near the end of World War II. The other Nordics had probably wanted to keep him dependant on them, prior to that. They'd probably never told him so that it would be easier to keep him at their places back then, and knowing how preoccupied they could be, it probably hadn't even occurred to them to tell him any time since.

"Yeah, well, when you're around as long as I've been, you pick up on a few things," said Prussia. Something else occurred to him that nearly caused him to shake his head in disgust. Iceland probably didn't even know how to shoot a gun. Some big brother he had.

Iceland didn't say anything for awhile. Not until after Prussia had gotten them out of the shady part of Madrid and to a place where he could get a taxi. Not even during the ride back to the hotel. He only spoke again when Prussia went to pick him up.

"I can walk," Iceland insisted.

Prussia nodded, understanding. Iceland didn't want to risk anyone seeing him being carried. It would be too humiliating for him. "I'll be right here if you need someone to lean on."

Iceland actually took him up on that offer. He managed to make it through the lobby on his own, and to the elevator, but once inside he slumped against Prussia, clearly in pain and exhausted. Prussia pushed the button for the fourth floor.

"My room's on the sixth floor. Can you hit that button too?" asked Iceland.

"Nope," Prussia told him.

Iceland made a whining noise and gave Prussia an exasperated look.

"You're coming to my room first," Prussia told him.

Iceland's eyes widened and he shook his head. Then he seemed to regret it as it must have brought on a wave of dizziness because he clutched his head with both hands. "I'm not going to your damned room."

"Actually you are."

"No I am not!" Iceland stumbled a few steps away from him.

"Sorry, boy, but you're a mess," said Prussia. "And I'm betting you don't have anything to clean yourself up with in your room."

Iceland scowled. "I have a washcloth, I'm sure."

"What about bandages? Bruise cream? Superglue?"

"Superglue?"

"You can use superglue to close cuts that you'd normally need stitches for," said Prussia. "Believe me, I know. And I've got a first aid kit in my suitcase. As many brawls as Spain, France, and I get in, it's kind of necessary."

"I'm not going to your room and that's final."

The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor. Prussia scooped Iceland up and started walking. "Yep. We'll see about that."  
>"Put me down!" Iceland hissed, struggling this time. "I'll scream! I'm not – you can't make me – I mean . . . If you touch me, I'll kill you. I don't care how badass you are or how many wars you've fought, I will kill you if you touch me."<p>

"Whoa, wait, what?" Prussia glared at him. "You're mistaking me for France or Spain."

"You three are best friends," growled Iceland.

Prussia guessed that it did stand to reason that he'd be like them, but still, hearing someone imply that was kind of insulting. "I'm not into kids or guys," said Prussia. "Especially not skinny little anemic Nordics with lots of annoying relatives. I'd need my own country and army if I wanted to fight any wars against Vikings."

Iceland seemed to calm down as he considered this, probably considering what the global scale consequences would be if Prussia were to try assaulting him. He seemed to realize that he was safe enough and didn't fight Prussia anymore as Prussia carried him to the room he was sharing with Germany.

Germany wasn't back yet, which was just as well. Prussia didn't need his little brother hovering over him as he patched Iceland up, trying to convince him to take the kid to the hospital for stitches instead of superglueing his cuts closed and other annoying things like that. Prussia set Iceland down on one of the twin beds then moved to his suitcase.

"Stay there a sec, okay?" said Prussia as he tried to find the first aid kit.

"'Kay," agreed Iceland.

After finding the kit, Prussia went to the bathroom and wetted a washcloth, and also retrieved one of the hand towels. He brought them back and pulled up a chair in front of Iceland so they were at the same eyelevel. "This is probably going to sting . . ."

Iceland's face wasn't as bad as it could have been. A split lip and eyebrow, a black eye, and a bruise along his jawline and another on his left cheekbone. Once he'd swabbed away all the blood Iceland looked much better, at least compared to how he'd looked when Prussia first found him. But . . . well, he was still a far cry from looking like he was okay. Prussia glued shut the cut over his eyebrow since it wouldn't stop bleeding, but the cut on Iceland's lip wasn't bad enough to need special attention. After putting cream on Iceland's bruises, Prussia decided that he'd done all he could for Iceland's face, and had to broach what could prove to be a delicate subject.

"Your cracked ribs need to be wrapped. I can take care of that for you, if you want, but it'll be easier to do if you take your shirt off."

He saw Iceland's purple eyes darken with suspicion.

"If you don't want me doing it, you can get that Sweden guy to do it for you. I know he knows how, and he doesn't say enough to make a big deal out of anything."

"Might as well get it over with," muttered Iceland. He struggled to get his jacket and shirt off. Prussia would have offered to help him, but had a feeling that would do more harm than good, and that Iceland would clam up and refuse his help altogether then. He really needed to remember to thank France and Spain for making everyone think that he was a pedophile by association with them.

"Alright," said Prussia once Iceland had managed to detangle himself from his shirt and jacket. "I'm going to spray this over your ribs, and it's going to feel kind of hot and cold at the same time. Maybe a little weird, but it'll numb the pain. Then I'm going to wrap them with this ace bandage. Try to relax, okay?"

Naturally, that just made Iceland tense up, but there was really nothing Prussia could do about that. But Iceland relaxed a little bit when Prussia went to work, and he realized that Prussia wasn't doing anything perverted to him. He didn't cry or flinch, which made it easier for Prussia to treat him, and before they knew it, Prussia was finished.

"There. Done," said Prussia. "Feel alright?"

"Yeah," muttered Iceland. "Thanks."

"No problem, squirt."

Iceland glared at him. Prussia smirked and went back to his first aid kit. He tossed Iceland a bottle of painkillers.

"These are your friend."

Iceland frowned at the prescription label that was written in German. "Norway'll get really mad at me if he finds out I took drugs that were prescribed for someone else."

"Then don't take them. Wallow in pain. Because you know that's what your dear brother wants."

Iceland scowled. "How many do I take?"

"I take two, but that might be a little much for someone as scrawny as you."

"I'm not scrawny!"

"You should probably just take one since you weigh about half as much as me, soaking wet."

"Screw you! I'm taking two!"

"No, you unawesome little twit! I said take one!"

Prussia wrestled the bottle from Iceland's scrawny hands, opened it, and tipped one into his palm. Then he held it out to Iceland. "Can you take it dry or do you want a beer?"

"Now you're suggesting I mix alcohol and someone else's prescription medicines?"

"I guess I can get you some water if you want it," Prussia sighed.

"I'll take it dry," insisted Iceland, and quickly swallowed the pill.

Prussia packed away his first aid kit then took the bloody washcloth into the bathroom. "You want to go back to your room now?" asked Prussia when he came back out.

"Yeah, I better," said Iceland. "I can walk," he said when Prussia moved to pick him up again.

Prussia walked beside him back to the elevator, and this time hit the sixth floor button so that Iceland wouldn't have to reach up for it. He walked Iceland back to his room and helped him unlock it when Iceland fumbled clumsily with his card key.

"You need anything else, kid?" asked Prussia, holding the door open and watching Iceland slowly make his way into the room. The room had two twin beds and a rollaway, Prussia noticed, and guessed that meant Iceland was sharing it with Norway and someone else. Probably Denmark. And Prussia was pretty sure he knew who got the crappy rollaway bed.

His guess was proved right when Iceland crawled onto it and slumped onto the mattress.

"Yeah . . . what's a good excuse for my face looking like this?" he asked.

"Just tell your brother that you walked into a door," Prussia suggested.

"And the door split open my eyebrow, busted my lip, blackened my eye, and bruised my jaw all at once?"

"Your cheek too," reminded Prussia.

"He'd never buy that."

"Huh. Okay, how about say you fell down the stairs?"

The look Iceland gave him before shutting his eyes was unamused.

"He's going to know the minute he gets a good look at you," said Prussia. "Anyone who sees you is going to know you got beat up, no matter what excuses you make."

"Don't tell anyone," begged Iceland. "I'll just skip the meeting tomorrow. I don't want the whole world knowing."

"I won't say anything," Prussia assured him. "You don't need to worry about the rest of the world finding out from me."

"Thanks Prussia," Iceland said as he pulled the covers over himself. "For everything."

A wide smile spread over Prussia's face. "If you're thankful then get down on your knees and worship my awesomeness!"

"I'm not that thankful, you idiot!"

"Well aren't you an ungrateful little brat," teased Prussia. "I'm so offended, I'm just going to leave."

"Hurry up and go, then! And turn off the damn light."

Prussia flipped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. "Feel better, sprout."

"Stop calling me stupid names!"

* * *

><p>This idea just kind of popped into my head, and I'm not sure where it's going to go, or if it's going any further. I might just leave it as a oneshot. But if you have suggestions please let me now. :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

AN: So the majority of people who reviewed wanted this to continue, and I had enough inspiration to write more, so here you go! (Plus I got a review from Prussia himself, and really, who am I to say no to Prussia, lol?)

Just as a warning, in this chapter Prussia makes some jokes about domestic violence. No offense is intended toward any survivors of domestic violence. But since one of the main characters of this anime/manga walks around in an SS uniform half the time, I don't think many people in this fandom are easily offended. But if you are, please know that was not my intent.

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

"Iceland, wake up."

"I'm awake. I'm just not going to the meeting."

Norway frowned. "Don't be childish, Iceland. You have no excuse not to go."

"I'll say," yawned Denmark. "You at least got plenty of sleep. We didn't stumble in 'til like four this morning."

"I'm sick." Iceland's voice was muffled beneath his sheet, which he had yet to remove from over his head.

"You're not sick," said Norway, even though he had to admit, if just to himself, Iceland's voice sounded a little strained. "You have a duty to attend the meeting."

"I'm not going, so piss off already," whined Iceland.

"Iceland!" Norway was starting to get mad now.

"Aww, come on," said Denmark. He strode over to Iceland's bed and grabbed the sheet and pulled. "Up and at 'emmmmmm . . ." He drew out the last syllable before trailing off, shock making him use an odd inflection. "What the?"

Norway glanced their way, but he couldn't see what had startled Denmark. Denmark stood directly between him and Iceland. "What is it?" he asked his friend because he thought Denmark was more likely to give a straight answer than his little brother.

"It's nothing!" snapped Iceland.

"Who did this to you?" asked Denmark, his voice suddenly cold and serious and putting Norway on full alert.

"What's wrong?" he asked and started moving toward them.

"No one did anything to me," growled Iceland.

"You tell me who did this to you, Ice," Denmark said, his voice taking on a dangerous tone. "You tell me _right now."_

"What –" Norway's voice died as he got a good look at his little brother's face. It was obvious at just a glance what had happened. Iceland had been beaten up. Badly. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and bruises marred his fair skin. His eyebrow had been split and his lip as well, and he was obviously in pain. Norway felt cold fury sweeping through his veins. He stepped forward and took Iceland's chin between two of his fingers, inspecting the damage. Iceland cringed but Norway wasn't sure if it was out of pain or fear.

"Who did this to you, Iceland?" Norway asked. His voice sounded calm, apathetic even, but what he was feeling was anything but.

"No –"

"Don't lie to me. Who. Did. This. To. You."

"Tell us, Ice," said Denmark. "We'll fix him good, I promise you. You'll never have to worry about him again."

"Tell me, Iceland," Norway said when Iceland remained silent.

"Six teenagers," said Iceland finally, "but they've already been taken care of."

"Humans did this to you?" asked Denmark, surprised.

"Yeah, but they've been dealt with." Iceland's expression clearly said he was not willing to elaborate, and Norway knew that nothing he said would make him do so. "And I'm not going to the meeting today, so leave me alone already!"

Norway let go of Iceland's chin and patted him on the back. Iceland gasped in pain, his eyes bulging, alerting Norway to the fact that there was more damage than met the eye. Before Iceland could stop him, he grabbed the hem of Iceland's shirt and pulled it up, revealing his bandaged ribs.

"What is this?" he asked coolly.

"Nothing."

"Iceland."

"I cracked a couple ribs, okay? It's not a big deal."

Norway inspected the bandaging, not sure what to make of the neatly wrapped rows. It looked professionally done. "You went to a hospital then?" he asked. There was no way Iceland could have wrapped his ribs so neatly himself, and any nation who'd done it for him would have known to contact Norway, unless they wanted trouble.

"What's it to you anyway?" demanded Iceland. "Let go of my shirt already!"

Norway let go of Iceland's shirt and sighed. It was obvious that his brother was in pain. He wished that he could just pull the covers up to Iceland's chin and tuck him in, and tell him to get some more rest, but Iceland had responsibilities as a nation. And his condition wasn't threatening his health long term or anything.

"I'm sorry, but you still have to come to the meeting," Norway told him.

"I can't go there looking like this! Everyone'll see!"

"You can't not go just because you have a black eye. Stop acting like a child."

"Then stop treating me like a child!" returned Iceland. "I'm old enough to decide what to do for myself."

"No, you're not. Now get up and get dressed."

Iceland muttered a few curses in his own language.

"Now," snapped Norway. "And stop swearing. I know what you're saying."

"Hah. Even I know what he's saying and I don't speak Icelandic," said Denmark. "And Norway's right, Ice. Unless you're bedridden, you have to come."

Norway looked away as Iceland dragged himself out of bed and pretended not to hear when his brother stifled a cry of pain. "Be ready in ten minutes," he said, then left the room so that he wouldn't have to watch.

* * *

><p>"Have you guys noticed that Norway's got quite a temper?" Prussia asked the other two thirds of the Bad Friends Trio as they sat pigging out at the hotel's continental buffet breakfast.<p>

"No, not really," France told him.

"Not at all, actually," Spain said. "Norway has always seemed to be a nice guy to me. And he has such a cute little brother."

Prussia thought it was probably a good thing he had been the one to save Iceland last night rather than Spain.

"Ah, yes, the little ice prince," said France with a dreamy air. Then his expression turned a little bit sinister and a little bit deranged. "I'd really like to make him a French territory."

"Do not let him hear you say that," warned Prussia. "Do not forget what the Nordics were like in their Viking days."

"They've changed their ways so much since then," said Spain. "I don't think there's been a Viking invasion for a good thousand years."

"I don't think they've changed that much," said Prussia as casually as he could. "I've seen the Norwegian when things don't go his way, and boy does he lose it. Just last night I saw him looking like he was about to fly off the handle, and not even the awesome me would want to be in his way when he did."

He was lying, of course, but it was for a good cause. And that good cause was for his own amusement. After leaving Iceland the night before, Prussia had gone back to his room, but hadn't been able to stop thinking about his new little buddy. And Iceland was so lucky that the awesome him had deemed him worthy to be his new minion. During the course of his thoughts, Prussia realized that, black eye or not, cracked ribs or not, Iceland probably would be made to attend the meeting. Chances were good that Norway would make him, regardless of how humiliated Iceland would be to have the world see him in such a state. So Prussia thought up a way to turn the tables on Norway and have him be the one who came out of this looking like an idiot rather than Iceland.

"It must have been pretty bad for you to think that," said Spain. He looked thoughtful and maybe a little confused. "Since when are you afraid of anyone?"

"Afraid? Me? I'm too awesome to be afraid, and you know that very well," said Prussia. "But that doesn't mean I can't think people are dangerous or unstable, which I most definitely thought Norway was and still is."

"Yes . . . well I need to get to the meeting room and start passing out today's agenda sheets," said Spain. "Are you both finished?"

"Yep," said Prussia. "I am ready for another day of boring ass meetings. Lead on!"

"How you always manage to be so enthusiastic about things you don't like is beyond my ken," France yawned as he followed them.

They made their way to the hotel's largest conference room, where France and Prussia each grabbed a stack of papers that needed to be left at each seat and started passing them out to help Spain finish faster. Other nations had begun streaming in by the time they were finished and Prussia and France went to give the extras to Spain so that he could recycle them or use them to line Romano's cage, or do whatever with them. Prussia had just handed over his leftover agendas when Spain let them all slip through his fingers and to the floor.

"Hey," whined Prussia. "Stop making more work for us!"

"Dios mio," said Spain looking both shocked and horrified.

"What?" Prussia asked, following his gaze, even though he was pretty sure he knew what he would see. And yes, he was just as right as he was awesome. For in walked the Nordic Five plus Sealand, and it was Iceland who'd caught Spain's attention.

"That poor boy," whispered France. "What cretin would mar something so beautiful?"

"Hmmm," said Prussia. "I have no idea. Maybe someone who everyone thinks is a very calm and serene guy, but who's actually pretty scary and still set in his Viking ways," he suggested.

"But they are brothers," said Spain.

"Huh? Hey, I wasn't naming any names," said Prussia slyly. "If you really wanna know, why not just go ask the little guy who did that to him? I'm sure he's got a decent excuse ready . . . like that he fell down the stairs. Go on, go ask him."

And France and Spain, both smitten with Iceland's normally cherubic apperance as they were, immediately went to do just that.

"Iceland, mon cherie," said France. "What has happened to you?"

Prussia was just able to hear his answer. He was hanging far enough back so that Iceland wouldn't see him and maybe get suspicious.

"Nothing," said Iceland irritably.

"Something happened," said Spain. "Your face . . ."

Iceland hunched his shoulders and looked away from them. "I walked into a door is all."

"HA!" Prussia couldn't help but laugh. Suddenly all eyes were drawn to him. Damn. "I mean . . . ouch. That sounds like it hurt. And that doesn't sound at all like the kind of answer someone would tell you to give when people asked what happened. There's no way you're not telling the truth."

Iceland glowered at him, but didn't seem to understand what he was really implying.

"Shut up, Prussia," said Norway, returning to Iceland's side so that he could come to his little brother's defense . . . and incriminating himself in the exact same sentence.

Prussia smirked as he saw France and Spain trading looks then turning glares on Norway. Perfect. He pantomimed zipping his lips together and tossing away the key. As he turned his back to the small gathered group, he saw France and Spain splitting apart, France going over to where England and America had been chatting before they started watching the entertainment, and Spain going over to Italy, Romano, Germany, and Japan. Both spoke in low tones to the groups they'd joined, and then dark or worried glances were directed at Norway and Iceland respectively.

It took everything Prussia had not to burst out laughing as rumors began circulating about the two.

* * *

><p>When the meeting broke for lunch, Iceland found himself cut off from the other Nordics as he was swarmed by other nations who all seemed to be overly sympathetic to the state he was in. America draped an arm around his shoulders and seemed to deliberately be guiding him away from Norway, who'd been trying to stay by his side. Then China was there with his entourage of Asian relatives, China trying to offer him tea, South Korea insisted that his own tea was better since it had originated from his place, Hong Kong hovering silently nearby, looking sympathetic, and Japan also hovering close by, but looking quite troubled. There were others too. Germany didn't come too close to Iceland but firmly planted himself in the way when Norway sought to rejoin his brother, which seemed to give Romano the courage to pick a fight with Norway about something that didn't seem relative to anything, but which suitably distracted him from the fact that Iceland was being swept away by the sea of other nations.<p>

Iceland didn't understand why everyone suddenly wanted to talk to him just because he had a black eye and a few bruises. It was embarrassing. Even England who was usually pissy to Iceland (still ticked about the Cod Wars) tried touching his arm and spoke to him consolingly. To be honest it was all starting to freak Iceland out.

Finally he managed to break away and jetted down the hall, away from the swarms of overly sympathetic nations. The hotel restaurant was probably where most of them were headed, so he circumnavigated around that area, instead heading to the alcove where he'd seen vending machines the previous day.

"Potato chip?" An open bag was suddenly thrust into his face. Behind it, Iceland saw Prussia's smirking face.

"No thanks," said Iceland.

"Potato chips are your friend, midget. Look closer."

Iceland blinked and took a better look inside the bag, which he now saw was empty . . . except for a tiny blue and white pill, just like the one Prussia had given him the night before. Gratefully, Iceland reached in, took it, and swallowed it dry. He had to make an effort not to choke. He wasn't used to swallowing pills dry, but he hadn't wanted to mix alcohol and medicine last night, any more than he'd wanted Prussia to think he was a sissy.

"Thank you," he said and leaned against the wall as Prussia crumpled up the potato chip bag and tossed it into a trashcan.

"If you're thankful then –"

"Shut up."

Prussia laughed and ruffled his hair. Iceland scowled at him but didn't bother trying to flatten it. His hair was always a mess, something that drove Norway crazy.

"How did you know I would come here?" Iceland asked, realizing that Prussia had been waiting for him.

"I'm just that awesome. So how're the ribs today?"

"They ache," said Iceland, honestly. "And it's humiliating having everyone see me like this."

"Yep. You look like a poster child for an abuse hotline," Prussia told him. And did the smirk on his face grow demonic? Iceland didn't understand why. He got the feeling Prussia thought something was hilarious, but didn't know what. At least he didn't feel like Prussia was making fun of him.

"I don't look that bad."

"Nope. You're not the one who looks bad."

Again, Iceland felt like something was going over his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing." Prussia's laugh made it clear that it definitely wasn't nothing. "You wanna get something to eat?"

"Why do you think I came here?" asked Iceland as he dug in his pockets for change.

"Because you didn't feel like going to the hotel restaurant with so many people hanging onto you," said Prussia. "But other restaurants do exist, you know. You don't need to walk for an hour to get to them either."

Iceland felt his face coloring at the memory of last night's fiasco. "Sh-shut up."

Prussia laughed again and flung an arm around Iceland's shoulders. "Right. Let's get some real food."

* * *

><p>Lunch with Prussia was surprisingly . . . enjoyable. The older ex-nation was obnoxious, yes, but not as bad as Iceland had always heard he was. He certainly wasn't any worse than Denmark who was always pestering him to call them "big brother" and playfully shoving him around, pinching his cheeks, and nearly scalping him whenever he felt the need to give Iceland a noogie. Prussia seemed to prefer just to sling an arm around Iceland's shoulders, and while Iceland wasn't crazy about that, it was infinitely better than collecting bruises in the name of familial affection.<p>

"You don't talk much, do you?" Prussia asked over lunch, which consisted of some sort of rice dish with lots of seafood.

"I talk enough."

"No, you really don't." Prussia frowned at him. "You don't get out often, do you?"

"I get out plenty!" said Iceland, irritated now, as was the norm for him.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"Then what kind of things do you do when you go out?" Prussia wanted to know.

"I . . ." Iceland tried to think of something quickly. "Whatever the others want to do, I guess."

"The others being the rest of the Nordic Five?" Prussia asked.

"Well, yeah."

"Well when it's your turn to choose what you do, what do you choose?" demanded Prussia.

"My turn . . ." Iceland faltered.

"You don't get to choose, do you?" asked Prussia smugly.

"I do!" Iceland lied.

"Then what was the last thing you chose to do?"

Iceland scowled at him. "Stop asking me stupid questions."

"You think it's stupid when people ask you what you want to do?"

"I – you – they – eragh! Didn't I just say stop asking stupid questions?"

"All I'm asking is what you do for fun," said Prussia. "There's nothing stupid about that. Answering is the least you can do for the guy who saved your other eye from getting blackened, you know."

Iceland frowned and thought for a minute. "I like movies," he said finally.

"Because they're something you can do with other people that you don't have to talk for?" Prussia asked slyly.

"Exactly," Iceland agreed.

"Hah! It's like I said, you don't talk much."

"I talk enough," growled Iceland. "Why are you back to that, anyway? You're annoying."

"I'm just trying to figure out why you're so spastic," said Prussia.

Iceland scowled. "I'm not spastic!"

"Actually, you kind of are."

Iceland glared. "If I'm so spastic then why are you bothering to be nice to me?"

"I didn't say you being spastic was a bad thing," said Prussia. "You're interesting, at least, but I get the feeling not many people notice that."

That made Iceland fall silent and think for a few moments. Prussia was right about not a lot of people noticing Iceland. Of the Nordic Five, he was the last one who people turned to and asked his opinion, and he never got to choose what they did when the five of them went out and did stuff. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd even gotten to choose a restaurant. The others were louder, more forceful, and older. He was the kid, the one no one really took seriously. No matter how mad it made him, no matter how often he blew up, no one ever took him seriously. So why . . . why was Prussia?

It occurred to Iceland that maybe Prussia wasn't taking him seriously. This could be some sort of prank, or maybe Prussia was just bored and had nothing better to do, yet how had he managed to pick up on the things that Iceland hadn't even consciously realized about his relationship with the other Nordics?

"I don't really like talking," Iceland said, speaking as he realized it, "because no one ever really listens to what I have to say."

Prussia clapped his hands. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"What?" Iceland looked at him confused.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, little island," Prussia told him.

"Huh?"

"Next time you say something and someone doesn't listen, I want you to punch them in the face as hard as you can. If you do that, then you will be awesome."

Iceland stared at him. "I don't think –"

"No, no, trust me – Yow!" Prussia's head snapped back as Iceland's fist connected with his jaw.

"Like that?" Iceland asked, trying to hold back a smirk.

"I didn't mean me, you little twerp!" Prussia said, rubbing his jaw.

"You said the next time someone didn't listen to something I had to say," Iceland reminded him. "Then you went and cut me off when I was trying to talk."

"Haha, touche," said Prussia. "But for the record, I don't listen to anyone else, not really. So basically, I'm treating you the same way I treat everyone else."

"Thanks for that," Iceland said. He rubbed his knuckles beneath the table so that Prussia wouldn't see. Punching him in the jaw had _hurt_. It seemed that nonstop babbling of his own self glorification had given him a jaw of steel.

"You know, Iceland," Prussia said, still rubbing his jaw. "That was actually kind of awesome."

"Thanks . . . I think."

Lunch ended too quickly, and all too soon, Iceland found himself back in the boring conference room, listening to boring speeches and debates, aware the whole while that people were throwing him weird glances, until finally the meeting also ended, and Iceland started to trudge back to his hotel room with the rest of the Nordics.

That, of course, was easier said than done. Everyone in the whole damn world seemed to want to stop them for some reason or another. To inquire about how he was feeling, or to stress that if he needed anything, anything at all, especially someplace to stay, that he could turn to them. Iceland really didn't understand this, or them, but he tried to smile politely, and nodded, and got out of there as quickly as he could. The other Nordics had gone on ahead without him, but when he reached his hotel room, he found them all gathered there, with a wide variety of expressions on their faces.

Denmark was on his back, on his bed, laughing like a madman. Sweden looked impassive as always and Finland looked a bit worried, but Norway . . . Norway looked seriously ticked off.

"What did you tell everyone?" he demanded as soon as Iceland closed the door.

"What?" Iceland was confused.

"About how you got hurt," said Norway. "What did you tell the other nations?"

"Nothing," Iceland snapped. "Why would I?"

"You must have told them something." Norway's gaze was as cold as a glacier.

"I don't understand what you mean," said Iceland.

"What Nor wants to know," said Denmark, managing to stop laughing, but only just barely, "is if you told anyone that you got that black eye and those bruises from your dear big brother here."

_"What?"_ Iceland stared at them. "Why the hell would I tell anyone that?"

Denmark didn't answer, instead dissolving into a fit of laughs again.

"Seems t' b' th' gener'l consensus that's wh't happen'd," Sweden spoke up.

"What?"

"Denmark, it's really not a laughing matter," said Finland. "And Norway, I told you Ice-kun would never say something like that. Look at him, he's obviously just confused as we all are."

"People didn't just get that idea out of nowhere," said Norway, but he didn't look as annoyed at Iceland now.

"I don't know how they got it," said Iceland. "Honest. Seriously, why would I tell someone that? I'm not looking to start any international incidents."

"What exactly did you say when people asked what happened?" Norway asked, sitting down beside Iceland on Iceland's rollaway bed.

Iceland shrugged then grimaced at the pain that brought to his ribs. "I told Spain and France that I walked into a door."

Denmark made a choking sound. "You said what?" he managed to gasp out before falling back into fits of laughter.

"Iceland," Norway said in an overly patient voice, "is there any particular reason why you gave the generic domestic abuse victim's answer to that question?"

Iceland opened his mouth then closed it as he realized several things at once. The first was that he didn't want to tell the other Nordics that it had been Prussia who'd come to his rescue the previous night. Not just because he wanted them to think he took care of his problem himself, but because . . . well, he couldn't explain why he didn't want them knowing about his friendship with the obnoxious ex-nation. He just didn't. The second thing he realized was that Prussia had kind of set up him. It had been Prussia who'd told him to say he walked into a door or fell down stairs in the first place, and Iceland remembered that strange little aside of Prussia's that morning, after Iceland had answered Spain's question. Iceland supposed that he should probably be annoyed about Prussia's deception, except when he thought about it . . . it was kind of funny that half the world now thought Norway was an abusive brother/parent figure.

"I was being sarcastic," he told Norway. "I didn't think anyone would either take me seriously or read deeper into such an obvious lie." He scowled and felt a surge of anger so great that its proportion almost seemed irrational for the situation. "I can't believe you thought I'd tell people that you hit me. What do you take me for?"

Norway looked away. "You're right," he admitted. "I should have known better. I apologize."

Iceland's anger did not abate. Ignoring both the apology and the fact that his brother was still sitting on his bed, Iceland laid down and closed his eyes. "I'm going to sleep. Shut up already, Denmark."

"What about dinner?" Finland asked. "You haven't eaten yet."

"I said I'm going to sleep. Go without me. I wouldn't want to cramp your style."

"Awww, Ice." Denmark crossed the room in record time and hauled him up by his collar to give him a bear hug. "I didn't mean that. Don't be –"

"OUCH! Let go!" Iceland screamed and flailed against Denmark's hold.

"Let go of him!" Norway was immediately there, separating Denmark from Iceland, whose ribs felt like they had just been lit on fire.

Iceland fell back onto the creaky mattress, clenching his jaw to avoid whimpering.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, Ice, I'm sorry," Denmark said, realizing what he'd done.

"Don't touch him!" Norway hissed when Denmark went to put a hand on Iceland's shoulder. "I don't want you hurting him again!"

"That's your job, isn't it?" Denmark tried to joke, but the joke fell flat. Norway gave him a dirty look then grabbed him by his tie. "Gah!" Denmark gagged as Norway yanked on the tie and released it to send Denmark stumbling

Then Norway sat down beside Iceland and carefully put a hand on Iceland's forehead, his gentleness belying his violence from two seconds ago. "You're warm," Norway commented. "You may have a fever."

"I'm fine," Iceland said, closing his eyes. "I just want to go to sleep Norway. That's all I want right now, so all of you, please just go." He was a little bit mad at himself that all his anger had drained away so quickly, but he was too tired to care too much. He really did just want to sleep, and Norway's cool hand on his forehead seemed to just loll his consciousness away.

"Then sleep," Norway told him. "We'll bring something back for you, in case you get hungry tonight."

"Thanks." Iceland felt a blanket being draped over him and was confused for a second, because he had just enough presence of mind to realize that he was lying on top of all his blankets. He cracked open an eyelid and saw that Denmark had taken the blanket from his own bed to cover him with.

"I really am sorry, Icey," Denmark said softly.

"S'okay," Iceland said, closing his eye again.

"And hey, tomorrow we all get to go home. We don't have to worry about another meeting for another three months –"

"Let him sleep," Norway said coldly. "Can't you see he's exhausted?"

"Yeah. Right. Sorry." Denmark ruffled Iceland's hair.

"I told you not to touch him."

"Right. Sorry."

They managed to get out of the room without another word, leaving Iceland alone, like he'd requested. And he was glad to see them go. He was so tired. And he was glad that the world conference was over. But at the same time, a little disappointed too. He would have liked to have hung out with Prussia a little more, and yes, it shocked him too. But Prussia had been surprisingly cool, and nice to him, and Iceland wished that it could have lasted a bit longer. Who knew if Prussia would even give him the time of day at the next conference? If he didn't, Iceland wouldn't be surprised one bit. Such was the story of his life. One minute he'd be getting along well with the other Nordics, the next he was being excluded for being the youngest.

At least if Prussia ignored him next time it wouldn't be for some stupid reason like that. It would be because that's how he treated everyone, without exclusion. And Iceland wouldn't care one bit.

That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.


End file.
